


Roll Away Your Stone

by scrapbullet



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Interspecies, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dwarves are well-known for their craft; when they delve down into the enduring rock they delve deeply, and so they have found the heart of a minstrel, it seems, utterly unknowing, and taken it with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll Away Your Stone

"They did not tarry long," Lindir says with some confusion, as if he'd truly thought that Dwarf-Kind would acquiesce to the whims of the White Council. He looks to his Lord for guidance, as ever, but Elrond merely smiles that enigmatic half-smile of his, and wipes the frown from Lindir's brow with deft fingers. 

The Lord of Imladris is, indeed, erudite, and very much aware. Perhaps it is the Elven Ring on his finger that enhances his natural sight, or perhaps not. 

Lindir pauses. Comprehension blooms over his fine features, and there, is that a blush upon his cheeks? "You knew they wouldn't."

"There is something to be said for the tenacity of Dwarves," Elrond replies, and when he stands the minstrel deigns to follow, lest his Lord leave him here with his questions. "And for the curiosity of Elves, it seems. Are they of interest to you, Lindir?"

The colour deepens. Flustered, Lindir looks away from Elrond and toward the place in which the Dwarves had dwelt for that short period of time, and it takes little to see into the very heart of him. Troubled, Lindir is both dismayed and frustrated with his own feelings, and when he falters back Elrond is there to steer him, settling them both onto a carved stone bench. 

"They have their own path to take," Elrond says gently, loath to cause distress. Lindir only shakes his head, as if he knows the futility of it all, and sighs. To fall for a child of Aulë-

"It is a foolish path." 

Elrond hums, for there is a glimmer of truth, and yet, there is also _hope_. "Perhaps they will return. If you choose to, you may speak with him then." 

The Dwarves are well-known for their craft; when they delve down into the enduring rock they delve deeply, and so they have found the heart of a minstrel, it seems, utterly unknowing, and taken it with them.

Lindir, flush with embarrassment, at first says nothing. His hands are restless without the comfort of his beloved lyre, crumpling the silken fabric of his robe. "There are few Kings that could love a minstrel," he says finally, "least of all a Dwarf-King harboring such hatred for Elf-Kind within his heart."

He stands, and although his expression is sad there is a lightness to his form that speaks of resolution. 

Lindir has made his choice.

His spirit will heal and endure, Elrond is sure; for the flame of Lindir's love burns quick and hot and strong. He is young, and the young do overcome such obstacles and pick themselves up again, their confidence bruised but their resolve unbroken.

For a moment the Half-Elven wonders if Thorin Oakenshield knows of Lindir's love, and if it is returned in kind.

But it matters not. 

Lindir's song continues.


End file.
